


Giving Fate A Hand

by ishtarelisheba



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cinderella AU, F/M, Ish promptathon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2018-10-04 23:21:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10292375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishtarelisheba/pseuds/ishtarelisheba
Summary: The king and queen believe that their son, Prince Baelfire, is in need of a sweetheart for companionship. He isn't so sure. Emma, made a servant in her own home by the men of the Jones family, just wants something in her life that isn't wretched servitude. A royal ball sounds like a night off, and it's one she'll take no matter what her keepers command.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt - _shipperqueen93 said: Bae/Cinderella. Make it happen :)_

“Bae, son,” the king said, following the prince around between rooms. “Don’t you think it would be nice, having someone to share your life with?”

“There’s plenty of time for that, Papa.” Baelfire gathered a few scattered pieces of parchment off the dining table, where one of the more conscientious maids had set them aside after breakfast. “I need to concentrate on my own projects for a while yet.”

King Rumpelstiltskin’s stride faltered. He closed his eyes and sighed. If his son had a passion for art, it would be an entirely different thing. Bae was _talented_ in art. The poetry that he so loved, however, not so much.

“What could it hurt to- to meet a few eligible young women?” he asked, resuming his shadowing of his son.

Bae snorted softly. “Because every time I entertain female company, you and Mama practically have the wedding invitations engraved before the full titles are introduced.”

Rumpelstiltskin frowned. The boy wasn’t wrong. “...And if we remain a bit more distant to the process?”

“Papa.” Bae spun on his heel on the way through the portrait room, stopping to give his father an amused look. “You aren’t capable. Either of you.”

The king allowed his son to go on unfollowed to his chambers, where he was certain to hole up for the rest of the day with his parchment and inks. Baelfire was lonely for a certain manner of company. Rumpelstiltskin was sure of it. What was there to be done about it, though, when it seemed nothing short of a full fledged royal ball would drag him out into society long enough to meet a possible sweetheart.

Turning in the opposite direction, he headed back toward the garden where he knew the queen would be at this time of morning. For better or worse, he had a plan, and she would have ideas as to how they might put it into action.

,.~*`’`*~.,.~*`’`*~.,.~*`’`*~.,

Emma grabbed the lantern handle in one hand and the milking bucket strap in the other, making her way back from the barn to the house. It was still pitch dark, not a hint of sunrise yet on the horizon, and she liked it that way. If she could get most of her chores done before the Joneses woke, she wouldn’t have to suffer being in their company so often over the course of the rest of the day.

She finished taking care of the animals and cleaning up multiple messes from around the house, where the men stayed up after she retreated to her attic the night before. Emma hurried to get everything squared away until all that was left for her to do was prepare breakfast.

It was properly daylight by the time she had the table set and the meal on it, and the trio of Jones men came dragging themselves into the dining room with their hangovers looming over them. Emma went around the table, pouring tea and virtually holding her breath in hopes that they were too occupied with splitting headaches to bother with her.

“Oi there, luv,” the youngest Jones said when she got close. “Know what’d make my head feel better?”

“Both of them, I expect,” Liam added with a nasty chuckle.

Emma didn’t respond. She simply poured Killian’s tea and turned to pour the next cup. He would have none of her snub, though, and the next thing she knew, an arm was wrapped about her waist and pulling her down onto his lap. He leered at her, pushing his face against her neck and sucking in a breath. She cringed.

“I have breakfast to finish serving,” she said at last, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away as it made its way up her bodice. 

She had been dodging their hands and mouths and… _other_ parts of their anatomy for years. They were beyond vile. Unfortunately, they were the only things standing between her and ending up on a street corner. She couldn’t find it in her to be grateful.

“You have _me_ to finish serving, and you’d best not forget it.” Killian bounced his leg beneath her.

Emma remembered the teapot in her hand, and she tipped it up enough to pour a stream of scalding tea right into the letch’s crotch. He screeched most satisfyingly, and she pushed herself away from him. His brother, Liam, hee-hawed in laughter. She was readying herself to run into the kitchen and bolt the door when the sound of horses neighing brought them all to attention. A moment later, someone knocked at the front door.

The three men stared at her until she went to answer the caller. Like everything else, it was her duty to accept company. She set the teapot down with a rattle of porcelain and hurried into the front of the house.

It was a royal messenger. The blue and gold colors on his sash were enough to tell her that much. The man towered over her, too tall to have been able to step through the doorway without ducking.

“An invitation,” he boomed, handing her an invitation with a seal of golden wax, the blue ribbon caught in it fluttering on the breeze as she took it from his hand. “Their Majesties are throwing a royal ball in honor of the prince’s birthday a fortnight hence, and every eligible woman in the kingdom is invited.”

The towering man gave a slight bow before turning to go. She watched in shock as he fit himself back into the carriage.

Before Emma could break open the seal to have a look at the invitation itself, it was snatched from her hand. She turned to scowl up at Brennan Jones as he tore the letter open carelessly. He barked a laugh.

“They’re trying to marry off that dud of a prince, are they?” Brennan said, crumpling the invitation in his hand. Emma only just saw a glimpse of golden calligraphy before it was wadded into a ball and tossed to his youngest son.

Emma could not have cared less about royalty if she’d tried. But a night away from the Joneses? Getting to eat food that someone else cooked and walk on floors that someone else had washed? Getting to _dance_ and enjoy herself without worrying that someone would try to stick their hand up her skirts or down her blouse? _That_ sounded like heaven.

“Means there’ll be gobs of women gagging for a good poke.” Killian smirked, wagging his head.

Liam took the ruined invitation and ripped the ribbon off. “Those princesses, though. They’re right up my alley.”

“We’ll certainly be up theirs before the night’s done!”

Emma swallowed the bile that rose at the back of her throat. “So I can go, then?”

All three men looked at her as though they’d forgotten she was there. They gave her such similar looks up and down that her skin crawled. 

_“You_ want to go?” Brennan Jones sneered. “And what’ll you dress in? A table cloth? Or do you plan on wearing that?”

Emma looked down at her smudged and creased dress. She had another that she switched out every few days, but it looked just the same. 

“She’ll do her face with the kitchen ashes. Give new meaning to ‘coal’ around the eyes,” Killian said, happily joining in the ridicule.

“No,” Brennan told her more seriously. “You won’t be going. You’ll stay here and make the house presentable. I’ve a feeling my boys will be bringing visitors home to enjoy it.”

With a roiling stomach, Emma forced herself to hold her tongue and walked away. 

She paced the kitchen, back and forth across the flagstone. As soon as she knew they’d left the house, she fled it herself, running through the forest as hard as she could as she tried to exhaust the anger that turned and built and burned inside her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Prompt - _ladysibyl said: Giving Fate a Hand prompts: 1) What does Bae think of his parents’ “throw a ball, meet a wife” plan? [2) and 3) redacted for use in future chapters] 4) Swanfire meet-cute?_ ]

Bae stalked through the castle to the royal suites. He was glad that Rosalie and Lucilia were in the gardens with the dogs and Lucilia’s young beau, and Gideon was in the library with his tutor. At least he wouldn’t have to navigate around their encouragements and needling, as well. Only stopping for a cursory knock at the queen’s private library doors, he went ahead inside. It wasn’t lost on him how quickly his parents leaned apart when he flung a door open, but he wasn’t in the mood for teasing in either direction. 

“You’re throwing a ball to marry me off?” he demanded, shaking the gilt invitation in his hand at them as he approached. “Why not pick for me? It’s fine, I’ll just find out on my wedding day!”

King and Queen both appeared caught out. To her credit, his mother recovered first.

“Darling, we aren’t choosing anyone for you,” she told him, attempting to smooth over his discovery. “We’re simply bringing a number of young ladies across your path. If you happen to hit it off with someone, then we would be over the moon.”

“And if I don’t?” Bae challenged. 

He saw his parents exchange a glance. His patience was whittled down further.

Baelfire crossed his arms over his chest, creasing the invitation and crumbling the wax seal. “Did it occur to you that I might find someone _on my own?”_

They had the decency to not exchange another knowing look. He was well aware that he didn’t go out terribly often. It was the principle of the thing.

“Son,” the king began, rising from the loveseat. He stepped close, resting his hands on Bae’s shoulders. “Consider this our last interference in your romantic life. If you don’t find someone there with whom you get along well enough to _consider_ marriage, your mother and I will leave it be.”

“We only want you to be happy,” his mother said as she joined them. Reaching up, she ran a hand over the side of his hair, fussily and affectionately combing the waves of it back without much effect. “One ball. You have our word.”

Bae sighed, absolutely defeated. He might have argued harder, had his father been there alone, but he’d never been much use in contradicting his mother. Something about her soothed the fights right out of the entire family. 

“One,” he agreed, giving in. “And when we all come to terms with the fact that I’m not compatible with _anyone_ -”

His mother clucked her tongue in response to his choice of words. “Bae, darling-”

Baelfire shook his head. “Mama, please?”

“Only the one. As I said.” She looked to her husband. “Rumpel?”

With obvious reluctance, the king followed her promise. “One. On my word.”

His father gave his cheek a gentle pat, and his mother brushed a kiss over the other before he pulled away from them, pressing the invitation into her hands. He took his satchel from the dining hall and went through the kitchens, not stopping until he made his way out to the stables. One of the grooms bustled to get his favorite horse ready. Bae swung himself into the saddle as soon as it was secure, heading just as quickly as the horse would carry him to someplace that was not royal land.

,.~*`’`*~.,.~*`’`*~.,.~*`’`*~.,

She stamped through the forest, finding some satisfaction in crunching leaves and breaking twigs beneath her feet. Emma had run as hard and far as she could before she was too winded to do more than stagger along with the support of trees under her hands. She’d sat on a fallen and crumbling log and cried into the skirt of her apron until she felt ridiculous for it and sick to her stomach with the exertion.

By the time she felt anything at all like returning to the house, it was too near lunchtime to make it there to cook and feed them. The hell with it. They could feed themselves or starve. She had at least equal chances they’d drink their lunches at the tavern. If not, she would pay for her absence. She couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch.

Lost again in anger, she made her way back toward the road. If she was lucky, she might run across a merchant selling some edible this-or-that and have a bit of lunch of her own. She had barely stepped onto the packed clay when she found herself face to hooves with a towering gray horse that suddenly reared. Throwing herself backward to keep from being trampled, Emma’s first instinct was to shout at the idiot who had all but run her down.

“Look where you’re going!” she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt bits of dirt flung across her.

The horse’s rider dismounted quickly, and she looked up to find him reaching down to help her. “I could say the same to you, miss,” he replied with no small amount of amusement to his tone.

His enunciation, his satchel, the colors on his clothing - the man was clearly from the castle. Likely delivering more invitations, she decided resentfully. She’d had _quite_ enough from that end of the kingdom for one day.

Emma swatted his hand away and got up, dusting leaves and clay from the back of her skirts, shaking dirt from herself. She turned on her heel, pacing hard away from him. There was a chuckle from behind her and the soft clop of a horse’s hooves as they followed.

“Well, are you all right?” he asked. “You seem fairly unharmed.”

“I’m _just fine,”_ she snapped at him over her shoulder. “You can go away. Ride past.”

He didn’t, though. He simply walked the horse. “I hope you don’t mind if I see you along a bit. It isn’t safe this deep in the forest. Not alone.”

With great purpose, she scoffed loud enough for him to hear. “You’re alone.”

“Yes, well, I’m-”

Emma spun to face him. “What? A man?”

There was a grin he fought to keep out of his expression. She had the distinct urge to slap him for it.

“I was going to say, I’m on horseback. Easier to get away from roving bands of whathaveyou on a horse than on foot.” His eyes crinkled with the smile he held back.

With a disgusted sound, she turned away from him again. The quick motion was a bad idea. She was exhausted from her rage-filled run, and starving, besides. She hadn’t had any breakfast of her own when she lit off from the kitchen. Her head spun and she was forced to stop.

“Miss?” the man asked, the mirth in his voice gone. “Are you certain you’re all right?”

“I’m-” Emma swallowed against the feeling in her stomach. She leaned with her hands on her knees. “Go away.”

There was a moment where she hoped he’d listened to her before he spoke again. “Have you eaten?”

She could _feel_ him giving her an appraising look. Her clothing, the ashes smudged on her hands and arms. He probably thought she was poor and hungry, and it made her angry all over again that he was right.

He touched her arm with a tentative hand, and he said more gently, “Miss? I brought much more than enough lunch for myself. It isn’t too fine a meal - cheese and cured meat - but I meant to stop and eat, and I’d be glad for your company.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t have much choice, if she wanted to make it back without fainting in the middle of the damned forest somewhere and wake up in the night to find herself being eaten by a boar. 

“Fine. Yeah, all right,” she told him by way of accepting. “But it’d better not be ham.”


End file.
